The Dirt on Ninth Grave

by Darynda Jones

  Could I? Did I dare? Maybe if I started out small. “Okay, so, you know how some people can hear things others can’t? Like they have excellent hearing?”

  She nodded.

  “And you know how some people can see things others can’t. Like, one person might have 20/20 vision while another has 50/80?”

  “Yes,” she said, drawing out the word as though she were trying to figure out where I was going.

  “Well, I can see and hear things others can’t.”

  “Oh. Okay. So you have really good night vision?”

  “Kind of. Not exactly.” I sat back when the server brought our food. After he left, I took a bite, rolled my eyes in ecstasy, then continued. “I can see other things.”

  “Wait,” she said, taking a sip of water to wash down her food, “are you psychic? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  I straightened my shoulders in thought. “Well, maybe, in a way.”

  “Wow. What kinds of things do you see?”

  And we’re off. “I see, you know, things like dead people.”

  She nodded, fascinated but not the least bit surprised. Either she didn’t believe me, or she was way more open-minded than I’d expected. I pressed my mouth together. “You’re not the least bit surprised. Either you don’t believe me, or you are way more open-minded than I’d expected.”

  “Open-minded,” she confirmed. “Janey, I might not be psychic, but it’s funny you bring that up. I have a cousin who is, well, she’s nuttier than almond paste, but she sees things, too. She’s the real deal, and…” She lowered her head as a blush of shame crept over her face. “And no one believed her. No one stood by her. Even after she warned us of impending doom and her predictions came through, her parents put her in an institution. She practically grew up there. And now—now she has no social skills. No one she can really talk to. It’s awful.”

  “I had no idea. I’m so sorry, Cook.”

  “No, it’s okay. Thank you, but my point is, I will never doubt true talent again. If you can see dead people, you can see dead people.”

  “You really believe me?”

  “With all my heart.”

  The weight I’d been carrying around vanished in an instant. She believed me. I could feel it to her marrow. Surprisingly, tears stung the backs of my eyes. I hadn’t realized how much I’d wanted to talk to someone about all this until that moment.

  “Oh, honey,” she said, her own eyes tearing. She pulled me into an awkward, over-the-table hug. “Now that this wall is down, tell me everything.”

  I blinked at her. “Everything?”

  “Everything.”

  So, I did. I told her about how I felt the emotions of others. How I saw another world beyond ours. A volatile world where supernatural creatures really existed. I didn’t tell her about Reyes. Or even Osh. I felt like that was their story to tell. Not mine. But I did tell her about the demon in Mr. P and the angel who tried to kill me. The smoke billowing up.

  She seemed to focus on one specific aspect of my story. “Another world? Like you see it within our own?”

  “Yes.”

  “And it’s all around us?”

  I nodded.

  “Wow.” She fell back in her chair, her forehead lined in thought. “That’s new.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you know, just in general. It’s not something you hear every day.” After a moment of contemplation, she asked, “Anything else?”

  “Yep. I know, like, eight languages.”

  “No way.”

  “And,” I continued, “I can stop time.” That might have been pushing it, but she seemed cool. “And,” I continued again, “apparently the departed can pass through me.”

  “Well, yeah, their ghosts.”

  “No, like through me through me. Like the chicken who crossed the road.”

  “To get to the other side,” she said. “Janey, do you know what this means?”

  I snorted. “I absolutely know what this means. Stay as far away from dead people as I can get.”

  “Well, that’s not what I was going to say.”

  “That’s because you’ve never had a dead person frolic through your brain.”

  “True. Not that I know of, at least.”

  “It is not something I ever ever ever want to happen again.”

  “Understandable.”

  “How are you so accepting of all this?”

  “You make it all sound so fascinating.”

  “Even the headless horseman thing?”

  Cookie’s face softened further. “Even the headless horseman thing, though I doubt I’ll get any sleep tonight.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No. I’m okay. I am a big girl. I have big girl panties. I’ll put them on and be fine.”

  “I don’t get it. Oh, you mean that metaphorically,” I said as understanding dawned. Her expression deadpanned, and I giggled. Just a little.

  “You know what this calls for?”

  “Appletinis?”

  “Apple pie.”

  I laughed softly. “Even better.”

  13

  A dyslexic man walks into a bra …

  —T-SHIRT

  Cookie dropped me off at my apartment. I had to feed the fur ball before heading back to the café to use Dixie’s computer. The only electronics I had were an old television that weighed as much as I did and a DVD player that got too hot after about forty-five minutes, at which time I had to stop the movie to let it cool down. Sadly, neither got the Internet.

  I walked into my apartment and was immediately attacked by a furry gray cat and a gorgeous, though departed, Rottweiler. They were getting along famously. Who knew cats could see the departed?

  After hanging up Reyes’s jacket and turning up the heat, I offered Irma a high five to no avail, went to the kitchen, and poured goat’s milk into a saucer for Satan’s feline offspring. Just the way I knew so many other things in my life, I knew not to give her regular, store-bought milk. I knew how to work a DVD player. Turn on a clothes dryer. Cook macaroni and cheese. Everyday things were second nature. My life, however, was not. It made no sense.

  I was up to the T’s now, so I combed through some of those as Satana ate.

  Tamara? No.

  Tasha? No.

  Teresa? No.

  I continued through as many T’s as I could think of while Artemis tugged on Irma’s muumuu and I cleaned the kitchen. It needed a good scrubbing. Then again, so did I. But when I walked into the bathroom, I stopped short.

  Something wasn’t right. Someone had been there.

  Last night, while freezing in the backseat of Mable’s Fiesta, I’d realized that my landlord could’ve been the one who came in and changed the light bulb. So that could be easily explained. But this time my things had been moved in the bathroom. I always kept my toothpaste in the drawer to my right, but it was on the counter. The one bottle of perfume I had, which I kept in the right corner, was now by the sink.

  Little things like that tended to set me on edge. I drew in a deep breath and tried to come up with a feasible explanation. It couldn’t have been Ian. I’d taken the key. Then again, who knew how many he’d had made? Or maybe he had a tool to pick locks. Cops sometimes did. Still, my landlord could have come in and worked on the sink. It’d been draining slowly. Did he work on it and have to move my stuff in the process?

  I tried not to get too worked up. There could be any number of reasons why my things were out of place. Heck, even Satana could have jumped up and … what? Spritzed on a little perfume? Brushed her teeth? Next she would be using my dental floss. Admittedly, it probably wasn’t her.

  Either way, enough worrying. Enough playing the scared victim of a potential stalker. I just had to be smart. Pay attention to my environment. Stick to well-lit areas. Hire a round-the-clock bodyguard. I’d have to look in the yellow pages for a discount bodyguard service.

  I took a shower with the bathroom door locked and a chair shoved under the
knob. It felt wonderful. The shower. Not the chair. Artemis chased streams of water. Satana meowed and complained about being locked inside after she was the one who insisted on coming in. Who had to smell every object in the room for two minutes before moving on to the next.

  I wondered about calling the number Bobert had placed in my palm. I’d have to do it from the café, but I was going back anyway. Should I risk it? Did I have a right to? Clearly Mr. V didn’t want me to get involved, but he was in danger. Frustration coursed through me.

  After putting on fresh clothes, I checked all the windows to make sure they were locked, grabbed Reyes’s jacket, and headed out the door.

  “Be back soon,” I said to Artemis and Satana. “Do not bother Irma. I mean it. You two play nice.”

  I ran the doggy bag I’d brought home from the restaurant over to James, then walked back to Mable’s house. I hadn’t planned on borrowing her car again, but it was so cold and I was so tired after spending hours in it the night before that I changed my mind.

  Unfortunately, she was already in bed. I still had a key to the car, but I would never take it without her permission.

  “Well,” I said to the little girl who’d been following me ever since Cookie and I had left the Rockefeller mansion. She had a tangle of blond hair hanging down her back and wore pajamas with Strawberry Shortcake on them. “I guess we’re walking.”

  She cradled a doll to her chest and petted its bald head, her eyes wide as she studied me. I figured she’d talk when she was ready. Sadly, it didn’t take her long to get ready.

  “Jessica said you lost your marbles.” She stayed about five feet back as though to give me a wide berth.

  I looked over my shoulder. “She said that, did she?”

  “Yes. But I’ve looked everywhere. I can’t find them.”

  “Darn it. Thanks for trying,” I said with a chuckle. My breath fogged around me in the crisp night. I made sure to walk on the side where the streetlamps were and kept a close eye on traffic. The fancy black car I’d thought was following me the day before sat parked just ahead. Like the little girl, I gave it a wide berth. As I passed, however, I realized it was a Rolls.

  Why would an immaculate Rolls-Royce be parked in this area?

  “It’s okay,” the little girl said. “Jessica told me I have to think of others, too. So I do. I think how dumb they are or how ugly their shoes are or how they don’t brush their teeth enough. Can I brush your hair?”

  “Maybe later.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her she probably couldn’t hold a brush, being dead and all. “Where’s Jessica now?”

  “At Rocket’s place.”

  Rocket? I stopped and turned around, my chest cavity oozing with hope. “Is Jessica about yea tall with red hair?”

  “Mm-hm.”

  My visitor from the storeroom. The one who was swallowed by the black smoke that might or might not have been Reyes Farrow. She’d been the only one who seemed to know who I was. If Reyes did silence her before she could tell me anything, then he would have a lot of explaining to do.

  “Is she okay?”

  “I guess. Where are you going?”

  “Back to work for a bit. Can you go get her?”

  “No. She won’t come here anymore.”

  I stepped closer. “Why not?”

  She stepped back. “He told her not to.”

  “Who did? Reyes?”

  Her nose crinkled. “Ew, no. I don’t think you should give food to that man anymore. He lives in a box and he stinks.”

  “Okay, well, first of all, that’s not very nice.”

  “His smell is not very nice.”

  “And second, who told her not to come here?”

  She blinked at me as though trying to understand the question, so I tried again.

  “Do you remember who told her that? Did she tell you?”

  She just stared ahead, her expression suddenly blank.

  “Are you having a seizure?” I asked, coming up with no better explanation.

  Her gaze slid past me, her eyes growing bigger by the second.

  A heavy dose of dread crept up my spine. “Is there something behind me?”

  She nodded and took another step back.

  “Does it have wings and a sword?”

  She shook her head.

  “Oh, then how bad can it be?” I turned to see and stumbled, tripping on my own feet and landing on my ass beside the little girl. The headless horseman was staring down at me. Or he would have been if he’d had a head.

  The horse reared up onto its hind legs. Her whinny echoed along the houses, and even though it wasn’t pretty, I scrambled to my feet and ran. I thought about stopping at the motel and pounding on Reyes’s door, but his windows were dark. So I ran all the way to the café, the sound of hoofbeats following close behind.

  When I got to the café, my lungs burning and my legs boneless, I found Reyes in the kitchen. They were about to close up for the night. As long as I got there before they closed, Dixie let me stay as long as I needed to. We didn’t have to use the key to lock the back door as we left. But he’d worked that morning. Why was he there now?

  “Hey,” I said, leaning against the doorframe. Mostly so I wouldn’t fall down.

  He stopped and gave me a once-over before saying, “Hey, back.” He’d pulled out one of the refrigeration units that was on the fritz and was working on it. Tools decorated every available surface. “What’s going on?”

  A fine sheen of sweat covered my face. So that was great. Someday I’d meet him when I looked normal and not sleep deprived or sweaty or on the verge of passing out. Sadly, today was not that day.

  “Nothing. I was going to use Dixie’s computer for a bit. What’s going on with you?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “I get easily bored, so I offered to do some maintenance work.”

  “That’s funny. I get easily distracted.” And now I was going to try to get some work done while the man voted most likely to cause spontaneous orgasms was lurking nearby.

  He let a smile as smooth as aged whiskey soften his features.

  I wanted to ask him, “So, did you give me that hundred-dollar bill? And if so, did you hear me when I said I loved you today? And if you did, how did you write a response on a bill that I got before I spilled my guts?” What came out was “Want some coffee?”

  His eyes glistened in the low light as he took in every inch of me. Mostly my boobs. “Sure.”

  “I’ll make a fresh pot.”

  Brenda was the only server left, and she was spot-mopping the café. I didn’t know her that well, but she’d always been really nice to me.

  “Hey, Brenda,” I said as I filled the pot with water.

  “Oh, hey, Janey. Great shirt.”

  Shirt? I looked down and almost groaned aloud. I’d forgotten I’d put on a shirt that read SAVE A VIRGIN. DO ME INSTEAD! No wonder he was staring at my boobs. This shirt was another Scooter purchase. That man made a killing off me that day.

  With humiliation warming my face, I went to Dixie’s office and closed the door. I’d made up my mind about Mr. V. I had to at least try. To feel out this connection of Bobert’s and see what he could do. What kind of guarantees he could offer.

  I dialed the number and waited.

  A female picked up. “Agent Carson.” I hadn’t expected a female. Actually, I wasn’t expecting anyone to pick up. It was after hours. I figured I’d go to straight to voice mail.

  I panicked and hung up. Anything I said to her could potentially put Mr. V’s family in even more danger. But the phone rang about thirty seconds after I hung up. Was she calling back? Was that even legal? Son of a bitch.

  I cleared my voice and picked up the receiver. “Firelight Grill.”

  “Yes, this is FBI Special Agent Carson, and I just received a call from this number.”

  “Oh, right. Some girl came in, used the phone, then ran out the back. It was weird. But thanks for calling.”

  “Are you Janey?” she aske
d.

  Damn it. “No.”

  “That’s strange. You sound like a Janey.”

  “Seriously?” What would the odds be that Janey was my real name? It was sort of growing on me.

  She chuckled. “You sound very much like a Janey. I’ve been expecting your call.”

  I let out a long sigh. “Look, I don’t think this is a good idea. I don’t want to get anyone hurt.”

  “By law, you have to report what you know, especially if someone’s life is in danger. I could have you arrested, see how you feel about it then.”

  I gaped at her. Or, well, at the bobblehead Beatles Dixie had on her desk. “Are you threatening me?”

  “I never make threats, Janey. I make promises.”

  This was unreal. “So you would really have me arrested?”

  “If what Detective Davidson told me is true, then yes I would.”

  “What the hell did he tell you? I hardly said a thing.”

  “He … filled in the blanks.”

  “Great.” I was so calling him Charley Bob. “Before I say anything, I want you to know that Mr. V practically begged me not to try to get help. His family is in real danger. Their captors killed their dog. They mean business.”

  “Mr. V? Is that a name or an initial?”

  I wilted in defeat. “It’s an initial.”

  “And you believe he and his family are in danger why?”

  Here we go. “It was just a hunch at first. There were men digging a tunnel in his store.”

  “A tunnel to where?”

  “The dry cleaners. Look, that’s not the point. The point is that they stand guard and watch his every move. And his family hasn’t been seen for days. And they have a plasma cutter.”

  “How do you know his family hasn’t been seen for days?”

  And that was how the conversation went. Me trying to explain my misgivings without sounding like a mental patient, and Agent Carson probing for more.

  “I happen to be pretty good friends with the head of the FBI in your area,” she said at last. “I’m flying out tonight. I’ll try to keep you out of this unless I have no choice. Is there a way to contact you?”

  “Not unless you have a can with a really long string attached.”